Unhappiness (an extract)
John believed
that it lived in the cupboard
Under the stairs
with the forgotten
Boxes of
candles, and other odds and sods;
That there was a
redolence
Of mouse droppings
about it,
Or something
pissy and fishy;
That it was
silent and needed to be spoken to,
To be taken
outside, bashful and embarrassed,
Apologetic, and given
what for.
Janet imagined
it skulking around the attic,
A stranger in a
stranger’s house,
Rooting through
the relics of the past
With bony
fingers rimmed with dirt,
Releasing the
clasps of old suitcases,
Wisps of dust, looking
For something of
us to wear,
Swearing with a
lisp in the foul air,
Rank and
jealous,
As it hunted for
something holed and frayed
And reeking of musk,
Seeking a skin
to fill that had been flayed;
That it was
simply unspoken,
